Goldfish Vision
by tomato machine
Summary: It's all a matter of perspective, but who plays Space Invaders looking for insight? Cyrus x Cynthia


characters/pairing: Cyrus x Cynthia  
notes: I love Futurama. Oh, another high-school AU. Can tie in with the other one. Don't need to warp the timeline, just bend it, like most plastic rulers.

"Space. It seems to go on and on forever. But then you get to the end and the gorilla starts throwing barrels at you."  
Phillip J. Fry - Futurama

.1 Goldfish Vision

They mash in the same way everyone expects them to mash. With GPAs of 4.0 and the rest of the student population either intimidated by their achievements or by the aura they exude.

Elitism? Not quite. They take to each other like the little bits of broken crisps that congregate at the bottom of the packet.

Overlooked and over salted.

This was in the days before Steven came into the picture, in the time following Cyrus' departure from Sunnyshore and subsequent enrollment into her school.

He lets her stick around because he has no idea how to push her away. While she on the other hand, just likes his company.

* * *

Right now they are holed up in his room. Mid-terms are over, but study-sessions have become a habit, even if no actual studying is taking place. It retains its title for the simple reason that Cyrus refuses to call it anything else.

Tonight, she's brought over an old, beat-up telescope, a momento of her brief stint at the astronomy club. And after the first ten minutes of tinkering, she has the rickety thing set-up next to his sole bedroom window.

Cyrus is trying very hard to ignore her presence all together and go about his usual routine. Normally it works out quite fine, except this time she's got the lights dimmed, and he's learning first-hand the constraints of the human eye.

She makes an accomplished sound in the back of her throat, motions for him to come over and have a look.

"Look, its the North Star."

Cyrus looks up from his book on quantum physics and sighs.

_Honestly?_

He caves in eventually, as he always does, puts an eye through the scope and blinks as the image sharpens.

"Also called Polaris. Did you know? People used its position to navigate by determining direction and latitude."

The city lights are too bright. He strains his eyes, but can barely spot anything beyond the vast expanse of space. Soon (far too soon) he gives up.

He looks back up at her, still uncomprehending, "…Why the sudden interest in astronomy?"

"Well, remember last summer where you and just about everyone else went to camp? I was stuck at home with a busted leg."

She shoos him away and takes to readjusting the scope.

He recalls the memory quite well. Band Camp, bane of his life. Who in the world played the sousaphone? Him, that's who.

"Well, there wasn't much to do but study, play Super Mario Brothers and tinker with the beat-up telescope Professor Rowan gave me."

She beat all six worlds of Yoshi's Island in two days, and there _really_ wasn't much else to do after that.

He scoffs.

_Typical._

"Hey, ever wonder what's up there?"

"No. Its a waste of time."

There is a visible frown.

Even at seventeen, Cynthia thinks the moon, stars and all reaches beyond a romantic and mysterious place hanging up in the sky, just beyond reach.

He knows this all to well, and there is a audible grunt, before a reply.

"There's nothing out there."

Nothing worth the forethought, anyway.

Just stars and planets and the moon.

He wants her to understand, wants her to stop being so sentimental and actually put some of her talent to use. Because she has the potential, and he thinks its wasted staring out at passing cars and playing ridiculous games involving the same two italian plumbers.

He doesn't ponder the philosophical meaning of life, doesn't need to to know the answer isn't encompassed in some out of date arcade game. Who plays _Space Invaders_ looking for insight?

He leans back against his desk, attempts to rationalize, "The moon is just a mass of rock trapped in the Earth's orbit. Stars are giant balls of burning gas: Seventy-three percent Hydrogen, twenty-five percent Helium and-"

"Alright, alright. I get the picture." She cuts in, "You know, that's the longest I've heard you talk. And I think I like you better quiet."

He straightens his spine, grunts as a signal to get on with it.

She takes a deep breathe,"So maybe the moon's just a lump of earth with nothing but craters and a cruddy flag, and the stars are just this burning mass of gas and plasma."

Exhales.

She inclines her head to look him straight in the eye, and smiles, "There is more to it than that, you know. So much more."

Cyrus gives her a pointed look. If he had eyebrows, one would most certainly be raised.

Cynthia simply brushes it off with a smile, and takes once more to staring up at the night sky.

He's grown to recognize that smile, has begun to dislike it.

"It's a matter of perspective."

A goldfish in its bowl looks at the world through gloss and sees the world a blur.

A hummingbird has to fly very fast to keep still.

On the moon, the sky is black -even during the day- and the stars are always visible.

"It's about what it stands for. We decide its worth by choosing what we'd compare it to, what we'd exchange it for."

Her eyes are still affixed to the stars.

His gaze is on her.

"Exactly, we decide."

He pauses, then adds as a forethought, "…Stop playing Space Invaders."

She laughs.

"You're only saying that because you've yet to win me in a game."

She takes the spot as valedictorian the next year, but both know it's because Cyrus thinks English Literature a waste of both time and talent.

* * *

Sorry, I was trying for one of those lighthearted, somewhat introspective pieces, but failed. And everything got so awkward.

In my head, teenage Cynthia is this dreamer/slacker who spends her time staring out at passing cars, playing really old video games, and all manner of other activities in a vain, but admittedly valiant attempt to stave off ennui.

Cyrus is a dorky, socially awkward zombie head.  
His orator skills suck cause he hasn't yet gone for the 'talk like hitler' speech skills workshop.


End file.
